On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs; 
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad! 
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines; 
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor. 

Added: Apr 13 2005 | Viewed: 1368 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Mary Oliver
Poem: On Winter's Margin

There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, On Winter's Margin, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Mary Oliver with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!